


Follow

by Mousieta



Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ, JYJ (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Emotional self harm, M/M, kinda poetry, past relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:34:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25896025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mousieta/pseuds/Mousieta
Summary: Jaejoong doesn't make good choices. Never has, really, when it comes to Yunho. But that doesn't matter when Yunho's music is pounding all around him.
Relationships: Jung Yunho (DBSK)/Kim Jaejoong
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7
Collections: K-Ficcer's Works





	Follow

**Author's Note:**

> The original thought came to me last year when Follow came out. It stuck around since while I figured out how to tell it. Because I always am and always will be Yunjae trash. 
> 
> Unbeta'ed bc this was written in a blur all at once last night as is, and I am not one to gainsay my midnight muse.

Rhythm

Beat

A grinding pulse reverberating deep under skin

Pounding

Pulsing

Echoing in the heat surging through his veins - too loose - lubricated - frictionless.

He drops his empty glass on a table.

His?

It doesn’t matter.

Rhythm

Beat

Bass

Bass

Bass

Drum

Four pounding beats: a tattoo on his skin, chasing his racing heart as he writhes on the dance floor. A thousand bodies press in on his loneliness.

Another drink

Left empty

Another table

Pulse, throb, ache.

Sex on a dance floor: orgy.

His mind quotes dictionaries, natters on about words and meanings and semantics.

A thigh slips between his, a skirt hiked high and he presses the need of his dick against another undulating body.

It _is_ sex. Sex is bodies and movement, sweat and motion. Rhythm and the thrumming bass of a pulsing cock. The throbbing pull of wet heat and the tight press of humanity. Sex is that and-

And

And

Something else. Something he can’t remember as he grips hips and grinds harder.

He can’t remember, doesn’t care. Words spin loosely, meaning empty. Fuck dictionaries. 

He dances, embodying desire, release, need, passion.

Sex.

Lights whirl around him. Red, blue, blue, purple. Red. He spins, an ache growing in his gut, a needle pricking at his heart, an old pain, new, scabbed over a hundred times, a thousand, uncountable. 

He recognizes the voice crooning out from the speakers above. He’s heard its every permutation: ecstasy, rage, indifference, the long drawn out moans of it crying out in pleasure. It filters down through ones and zeros and he knows what the face looked like when the words had first been sung. Though it’s been a decade since he’s see that face in a recording booth. In a club. Pressed down against satin sheets. 

The sea of people shift and his face appears, _his voice_ still falling around them. He emerges from darkness into the spinning light. Jae had seen him enter the club, knowledge fueling drink after drink. 

Yunho 

Yunho 

Yunho.

His voice stretches eternally long over rhythm and bass. Remix.

 _Yes._ The word transcribes itself on his heart. He could cut that heart open along the smooth shaft of Yunho’s dick. Sex. _Yes_. 

His body has demands. 

Yunhos eyes, so familiar, so different, echo the Yes thrumming through Jae’s skin. Yunho’s voice commands: follow me like a lover.

Jaejoong grabs and pulls. 

Private stair

Private bathroom

Wall

And Jae is on his knees, the bruising pain of cold tile familiar, welcome. A hand tries to slow. Yunho tries to speak. But Jae’s soul wants one thing from Yunho’s lips. 

Not kisses 

Not words

He remembers this length, this girth, smell and taste; remembers how to suck to pull it from half-soft to aching and hard. He remembers too much as he sinks home, face pressed against the base of Yunho’s cock. 

_Yes._ The word spreads itself thin over his mind as he hears Yunho groan out his name. 

The only thing he wants from those lips. His voice, that sound.

Hands stop fighting and slot into old habits, to hip, to head. 

Beat

Suck

Beat 

Suck

The building pulses to the rhythm and beat of Yunho’s heart. Of Jaejoong sucking. Of the only dick that ever mattered. 

“Too good,” Yunho gasps.

 _Power_ , Jae’s mind provides. 

The other thing that is also sex: power. To control, to consume; power to bring Yunho right to the edge; all his knowledge, their history. 

The ache of his knees, his jaw, the ache of Yunho’s fists in his hair. Power to purge the ache from his soul. Exorcise a longing for a past that never was. 

Power to shatter Yunho and drink him down. 

He pulls back, familiar taste on his tongue, familiar weakness in his heart. 

He takes the kiss, now, that he’s dreamed of for a decade, sealing away his longing.

Yunho’s eyes find his. 

Stranger

Jae laughs, its all too fucking funny.

Yunho’s sigh is tired. “You never change.”

Jae is tired. 

Smiles

Sighs

The press of the walls around them are intolerable.

“I have, though.”

He kisses Yunho a second time, sealing away desire. 

Third

Fourth

For remembrance

Confession: “I change all the time.”

He has enough power to shatter himself, too. The pulse of his heart rages as he smiles, leaves. 

Songs shift like lovers in a life of mortality. Yunho’s voice is gone, music hollow.

Cab

City

Darkness

Home

A different rhythm.


End file.
